


Ruined

by theVeraciousIntrovert



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Anal Sex, Atlas!Rhys - Freeform, Biting, Blood, Breathplay, Canon Compliant, Hate Sex, Jack's also mentally unstable, M/M, Purposeful Capitalization, Rhys is mentally unstable, Stream of Consciousness, Unhealthy Relationships, abstract writing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5835466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theVeraciousIntrovert/pseuds/theVeraciousIntrovert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jack, even a Good Life and Good Friends just aren't enough to stop Rhys from making Terrible Decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> One of the reasons I love Rhack so much is becaues of how dark it can get. I tried to explore that in this fic, while also testing out a writing style that's less organized than how I usually write. So, enjoy Rhys's descent into madness!
> 
> EDIT: whoops, seems I forgot to put a rating up originally. That's been fixed now ^^;;

They told him it was a Bad Idea.  Gave him plenty of Good Reasons.  They were Good Friends like that.

Good.  Rhys had a Good Life.  His friends were happy, his company was gaining momentum, and no one had tried to shove an indestructible endo-skeleton inside him in over a year.  No one had tried to strangle him with his own hand, no one had begged on their knees for him to stop tearing out his cybernetics.  He shuddered.  Time had done nothing to dull the sharpness of _that_ particular memory.

Metal around his neck and the taste of copper on his lips and the searing rush of adrenaline because this was _bad, dangerous, something he should run from_ and part of him wanted to run, to escape, to tear himself apart if that’s what it took to be rid of Jack once and for all.  He looked down at the lens in his hand, the one that used to be wired to his brain.

Part of him never wanted to stop.

Part of him wanted to fight and bleed and struggle and see _just how much he could take_ , how much _Jack_ could take.  Throw punches and hateful words and be slammed into the wall and fight _back_ , see who could be the first to draw blood, count bruises the next day and align fingers with crescent shaped marks and remember the sting of too-big hands with a too-tight grip.

He wanted the conflict and the betrayal and the animosity, and _oh_ , Rhys wanted very much to be _bad_.  He wanted to make the Wrong Decision, he wanted to fuck up, he didn’t want this Good Life or these Good Friends.

They never said it, but they all knew he was never really the same after.  Maybe Jack was still in the back of his mind somewhere, fueling this lust, this hunger for mutual self-destruction.

Or maybe the fuel had always been there, and the only thing absent before had been a spark.

Regardless, he was certainly on fire now.

There was another reason for bringing the past back, he reminded himself as he carefully copied each bit of Jack’s AI from his old ECHO eye.  The King of Hyperion knew how to run a company.  Yeah.  Jack’s business knowledge was a useful tool.  That’s why he was doing this.  Rhys repeated the statement until it felt true.  Muttered it under his breath as he took the drive containing Jack, Handsome Jack, long dead and yet still never really gone, he took the drive and plugged it into the body, the body meticulously constructed so that it could feel and bleed, constructed for a level playing field because this was never about information and Rhys knew he was insane, knew Vaughn’s eyes had said as much when he came by to see the prototypes.

When blue and green eyes finally opened, Rhys sucked in a breath through his teeth.  He held it, waiting.  Waiting for motion, for signs of life.  One beat.  Two.  And then Jack’s lips curled into a familiar smirk.

“Never thought I’d see that pretty face again,” he sneered.  He lifted a hand.  Flexed it, then made a fist.  Wiggled the fingers of it in front of his face.  Put it back down so that he could push himself into a sitting position.  “Not bad.”

“Jack,” Rhys exhaled.  He felt lightheaded, giddy and terrified and all the more giddy for the terror.  This wasn’t real, no way he’d actually gone this far.  No way.  Their eyes met and his blood _sang_ with it.

“You put some serious work into this thing, didn’t you?  I almost feel human.  It’s a shame, really, that you’re not leaving this room alive.”  Rhys took an involuntary step backwards, and Jack used the distance to swing his legs off the cot and take to his feet.  “I mean, honestly pumpkin, after what you did?  I can’t wait to watch the life leave your eyes.”  Unprepared.  Rhys was Unprepared for the _speed_ , because before he could blink, Jack’s hands were around his neck and his back crashed into the wall and this wasn’t self-defense lessons with Vaughn this was real this was vision was going spotty and the only thing that made him move was the fear that it could be over so soon.

“No,” he rasped, feet struggling for purchase against painted brick.  He could only see a snarl, sharp teeth and Jack was _livid_.

“Nobody.  Says no.  To Handsome.  Fucking.  Jack.”  But the sound was lost in white noise, the blood pounding in his ears and then—

Air.

Breathing burned his ragged throat and clouds cleared so slowly from his vision.  Jack was holding his jaw, smeared red.  The same red on Rhys’s bionic hand.

“ _Oh_.  Oh, Kitten, you learned how to fight _back_.”

“Damn right I did.”  Rhys grinned a shark’s grin that he had learned from the shark himself.  When Jack lunged again, he hit the wall because this time it was _Rhys_ who was Fast, and then Jack was on the ground and Rhys was on top and he wasn’t really thinking when he sunk his teeth into his neck, but Jack’s blood was metal on his tongue and electricity in his mind and forget Bad, this was Good, so so so Good.  The groan that left Jack’s lips jumped over Rhys’s thoughts and buried itself deep in his subconscious, waking something there, something that made him echo the sound.  That familiar chuckle, deep and dark.  Rhys’s back hit the ground and he tried to push back but his shoulders were pinned and Jack was _so close_ to him, but Rhys wasn’t dying this time, no, at least not yet.

“Pumpkin, I am going to _ruin_ you.”  Jack’s lips against his were hard, Rhys could hardly call it a kiss, not with the blood (Jack’s or his, who could tell), not with the sharp teeth and the nails leaving crescents in his shoulders, no, this was not at all a Kiss, this was still a Fight, and this was a Fight Rhys wasn’t going to lose, not yet.  He waited for a pause, for a moment where both of them needed to breathe and then he struck, his knee knocking the breath from Jack’s gut.  He was on his feet and he was hauling Jack up by the front of that ridiculous sweater which had been so difficult to find in one piece, threw him against the desk and Jack _stayed_ there, watching Rhys, because he knew, he knew Fight and Play were one and the same and no one was _really_ going to lose, not this time, not when they were both so _hungry_.

Rhys watched back.  Licked the blood off his lips, knew Jack tracked the movement the same way a predator watched its prey.  The room was holding its breath while Rhys closed the distance between them, motions measured where before they had been frantic.  “You’ve already ruined me.”

They crashed into each other with the force of galaxies, destructive in the creation of something entirely new.  Jacket, sweater, vest, pants, the articles were left discarded about the room and Rhys was _positive_ he heard the ping of an iridescent orange button bouncing off a wall.  The thought was forced from his mind as his back met cinderblock again, and there was a hand around his throat _again_ , but Rhys had a hold on Jack, too, lean thighs pressing into muscled sides, and dark gaze more pupil than iris that was just as powerful as any physical grip.  There were spots in his vision and he could swear they spelt out a name but before he could read it that hand was gone and he gasped for breath, for that sweet euphoria that could only be _Jack_ , against him and around him and oh god how had he ever lived without this.

Jack entered him without much ceremony or preparation—they had already made their mark on each other, already claimed, this was just a formality Jack was already His and He was Jack’s and they would always have _this_ , they would always be Ruined. 

Hard, fast, heavy, painful but so Good, this was what was missing, this violence, hatred that burned too hot and Rhys saw _stars_ , and then he was screaming and it had to have been Jack’s name, it had to have been, that’s why Jack was grinning, why his teeth found purchase in Rhys’s skin and it was _amazing_ , it made Rhys cling to Jack tighter and claw into his back and _beg_ for more until finally, finally, he found release and he could have died right there, as long as he could take Jack with him.

They were far too spent from the Play to continue the Fight, and besides, they both had lost.  They sunk to the ground and left blood on the bricks.

Rhys knew there was work to be done if he wanted to maintain any part of his Good Life after this.

But right now, nothing.  There was only Jack, and a deep sleep he hoped he’d wake up from.


End file.
